I AM well aware of the difficulties that attend this part of my
subject; but although every expression which I am about to use
may clash, upon some points, with the feelings of the different
parties which divide my country, I shall still speak my whole
thought.

In Europe we are at a loss how to judge the true character
and the permanent instincts of democracy, because in Europe two
conflicting principles exist and we do not know what to attribute
to the principles themselves and what to the passions that the
contest produces. Such is not the case in America, however; there
the people reign without impediment, and they have no perils to
dread and no injuries to avenge. In America democracy is given up
to its own propensities; its course is natural and its activity
is unrestrained, there, consequently, its real character must be
judged. And to no people can this inquiry be more vitally interesting than to the French nation, who are blindly driven onwards,
by a daily and irresistible impulse, towards a state of things
which may prove either despotic or republican, but which will
assuredly be democratic.

UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE

I HAVE already observed that universal suffrage has been
adopted in all the states of the Union; it consequently exists in
communities that occupy very different positions in the social
scale. I have had opportunities of observing its effects in
different localities and among races of men who are nearly
strangers to each other in their language, their religion, and
their modes of life; in Louisiana as well as in New England, in
Georgia as in Canada. I have remarked that universal suffrage is
far from producing in America either all the good or all the evil
consequences which may be expected from it in Europe, and that
its effects generally differ very much from those which are
attributed to it.

THE CHOICE OF THE PEOPLE, AND THE INSTINCTIVE PREFERENCES OF THE AMERICAN DEMOCRACY. In the United States the ablest men are rarely placed at the head of affairs--Reason for this
peculiarity--The envy which prevails in the lower orders of
France against the higher classes is not a French but a purely
democratic feeling--Why the most distinguished men in America
frequently seclude themselves from public affairs.

MANY people in Europe are apt to believe without saying it, or to
say without believing it, that one of the great advantages of
universal suffrage is that it entrusts the direction of affairs
to men who are worthy of the public confidence. They admit that
the people are unable to govern of themselves, but they aver that
the people always wish the welfare of the state and instinctively
designate those who are animated by the same good will and who
are the most fit to wield the supreme authority. I confess that
the observations I made in America by no means coincide with
these opinions. On my arrival in the United States I was
surprised to find so much distinguished talent among the citizens
and so little among the heads of the government. It is a constant
fact that at the present day the ablest men in the United States
are rarely placed at the head of affairs; and it must be
acknowledged that such has been the result in proportion as
democracy has exceeded all its former limits. The race of
American statesmen has evidently dwindled most remarkably in the
course of the last fifty years.

Several causes may be assigned for this phenomenon. It is
impossible, after the most strenuous exertions, to raise the
intelligence of the people above a certain level. Whatever may be
the facilities of acquiring information, whatever may be the
profusion of easy methods and cheap science, the human mind can
never be instructed and developed without devoting considerable
time to these objects.

The greater or lesser ease with which people can live
without working is a sure index of intellectual progress. This
boundary is more remote in some countries and more restricted in
others, but it must exist somewhere as long as the people are
forced to work in order to procure the means of subsistence; that
is to say, as long as they continue to be the people. It is
therefore quite as difficult to imagine a state in which all the
citizens are very well informed as a state in which they are all
wealthy; these two difficulties are correlative. I readily admit that the mass of the citizens sincerely wish to promote the welfare of the
country; nay, more, I even grant that the lower classes mix fewer
considerations of personal interest with their patriotism than
the higher orders; but it is always more or less difficult for
them to discern the best means of attaining the end which they
sincerely desire. Long and patient observation and much acquired
knowledge are requisite to form a just estimate of the character
of a single individual. Men of the greatest genius often fail to
do it, and can it be supposed that the common people will always
succeed? The people have neither the time nor the means for an
investigation of this kind. Their conclusions are hastily formed
from a superficial inspection of the more prominent features of a
question. Hence it often happens that mountebanks of all sorts
are able to please the people, while their truest friends
frequently fail to gain their confidence.

Moreover, democracy not only lacks that soundness of judgment which is necessary to select men really deserving of their
confidence, but often have not the desire or the inclination to
find them out. It cannot be denied that democratic institutions
strongly tend to promote the feeling of envy in the human heart;
not so much because they afford to everyone the means of rising
to the same level with others as because those means perpetually
disappoint the persons who employ them. Democratic institutions
awaken and foster a passion for equality which they can never entirely satisfy. This complete equality eludes the grasp of the
people at the very moment when they think they have grasped it,
and "flies," as Pascal says, "with an eternal flight; the people
are excited in the pursuit of an advantage, which is more
precious because it is not sufficiently remote to be unknown or
sufficiently near to be enjoyed. The lower orders are agitated by
the chance of success, they are irritated by its uncertainty; and
they pass from the enthusiasm of pursuit to the exhaustion of ill
success, and lastly to the acrimony of disappointment. Whatever
transcends their own limitations appears to be an obstacle to
their desires, and there is no superiority, however legitimate it
may be, which is not irksome in their sight.

It has been supposed that the secret instinct which leads
the lower orders to remove their superiors as much as possible
from the direction of public affairs is peculiar to France. This
is an error, however; the instinct to which I allude is not
French, it is democratic; it may have been heightened by peculiar political
circumstances, but it owes its origin to a higher cause.

In the United States the people do not hate the higher
classes of society, but are not favorably inclined towards them
and carefully exclude them from the exercise of authority. They
do not fear distinguished talents, but are rarely fond of them.
In general, everyone who rises without their aid seldom obtains
their favor.

While the natural instincts of democracy induce the people
to reject distinguished citizens as their rulers, an instinct not
less strong induces able men to retire from the political arena,
in which it is so difficult to retain their independence, or to
advance without becoming servile. This opinion has been candidly
expressed by Chancellor Kent, who says, in speaking with high
praise of that part of the Constitution which empowers the
executive to nominate the judges: "It is indeed probable that the
men who are best fitted to discharge the duties of this high
office would have too much reserve in their manners, and too much
austerity in their principles, for them to be returned by the
majority at an election where universal suffrage is adopted."1
Such were the opinions which were printed without contradiction
in America in the year 1830!

I hold it to be sufficiently demonstrated that universal
suffrage is by no means a guarantee of the wisdom of the popular
choice. Whatever its advantages may be, this is not one of them.

CAUSES WHICH MAY PARTLY CORRECT THESE TENDENCIES OF THE DE.
Contrary effects produced on nations as on individuals by great
dangers--Why so many distinguished men stood at the head of
affairs in America fifty years ago--Influence which
intelligence and morality exercise upon the popular --Example of
New England--States of the Southwest --How certain laws influence
the choice of the people--Election by an elected body--Its
effects upon the composition of the Senate.

WHEN serious dangers threaten the state, the people frequently
succeed in selecting the citizens who are the most able to save
it. It has been observed that man rarely retains his customary
level in very critical circumstances; he rises above or sinks
below his usual condition, and the same thing is true of nations.
Extreme perils sometimes quench the energy of a people instead of stimulating it; they excite without directing its passions; and instead of
clearing they confuse its powers of perception. The Jews fought
and killed one another amid the smoking ruins of their temple.
But it is more common, with both nations and individuals, to find
extraordinary virtues developed from the very imminence of the
danger. Great characters are then brought into relief as the
edifices which are usually concealed by the gloom of night are
illuminated by the glare of a conflagrations. At those dangerous
times genius no longer hesitates to come forward; and the people,
alarmed by the perils of their situation, for a time forget their
envious passions. Great names may then be drawn from the ballot
box.

I have already observed that the American statesmen of the
present day are very inferior to those who stood at the head of
affairs fifty years ago. This is as much a consequence of the
circumstances as of the laws of the country. When America was
struggling in the high cause of independence to throw off the
yoke of another country, and when it was about to usher a new
nation into the world, the spirits of its inhabitants were roused
to the height which their great objects required. In this general
excitement distinguished men were ready to anticipate the call of
the community, and the people clung to them for support and
placed them at their head. But such events are rare, and it is
from the ordinary course of affairs that our judgment must be
formed.

If passing occurrences sometimes check the passions of
democracy, the intelligence and the morals of the community
exercise an influence on them which is not less powerful and far
more permanent. This is very perceptible in the United States.

In New England, where education and liberty are the daughters of morality and religion, where society has acquired age and
stability enough to enable it to form principles and hold fixed
habits, the common people are accustomed to respect intellectual
and moral superiority and to submit to it without complaint,
although they set at naught all those privileges which wealth and
birth have introduced among mankind. In New England,
consequently, the democracy makes a more judicious choice than it
does elsewhere.

But as we descend towards the South, to those states in
which the constitution of society is more recent and less strong,
where instruction is less general and the principles of morality,
religion, and liberty are less happily combined, we perceive that talents
and virtues become more rare among those who are in authority.

Lastly, when we arrive at the new Southwestern states, in
which the constitution of society dates but from yesterday and
presents only an agglomeration of adventurers and speculators, we
are amazed at the persons who are invested with public authority,
and we are led to ask by what force, independent of legislation
and of the men who direct it, the state can be protected and
society be made to flourish.

There are certain laws of a democratic nature which
contribute, nevertheless, to correct in some measure these
dangerous tendencies of democracy. On entering the House of
Representatives at Washington, one is struck by the vulgar
demeanor of that great assembly. Often there is not a
distinguished man in the whole number. Its members are almost all
obscure individuals, whose names bring no associations to mind.
They are mostly village lawyers, men in trade, or even persons
belonging to the lower classes of society. In a country in which
education is very general, it is said that the representatives of
the people do not always know how to write correctly.

At a few yards' distance is the door of the Senate, which
contains within a small space a large proportion of the
celebrated men of America. Scarcely an individual is to be seen
in it who has not had an active and illustrious career: the
Senate is composed of eloquent advocates, distinguished generals,
wise magistrates, and statesmen of note, whose arguments would do
honor to the most remarkable parliamentary debates of Europe.

How comes this strange contrast, and why are the ablest
citizens found in one assembly rather than in the other? Why is
the former body remarkable for its vulgar elements, while the
latter seems to enjoy a monopoly of intelligence and talent? Both
of these assemblies emanate from the people; both are chosen by
universal suffrage; and no voice has hitherto been heard to
assert in America that the Senate is hostile to the interests of
the people. From what cause, then, does so startling a difference
arise? The only reason which appears to me adequately to account
for it is that the House of Representatives is elected by the
people directly, while the Senate is elected by elected bodies.
The whole body of the citizens name the legislature of each
state, and the Federal Constitution converts these legislatures
into so many electoral bodies, which return the members of the Senate. The Senators are elected by an indirect application of the popular vote; for the
legislatures which appoint them are not aristocratic or
privileged bodies, that elect in their own right, but they are
chosen by the totality of the citizens; they are generally
elected every year, and enough new members may be chosen every
year to determine the senatorial appointments. But this
transmission of the popular authority through an assembly of
chosen men operates an important change in it by refining its
discretion and improving its choice. Men who are chosen in this
manner accurately represent the majority of the nation which
governs them; but they represent only the elevated thoughts that
are current in the community and the generous propensities that
prompt its nobler actions rather than the petty passions that
disturb or the vices that disgrace it.

The time must come when the American republics will be
obliged more frequently to introduce the plan of election by an
elected body into their system of representation or run the risk
of perishing miserably among the shoals of democracy.

I do not hesitate to avow that I look upon this peculiar
system of election as the only means of bringing the exercise of
political power to the level of all classes of the people. Those
who hope to convert this institution into the exclusive weapon of
a party, and those who fear to use it, seem to me to be equally
in error.

INFLUENCE WHICH THE AMERICAN DEMOCRACY HAS EXERCISED ON THE LAWS RELATING TO ELECTIONS. When elections are rare, they expose the
state to a violent crisis--When they are frequent, they keep up a
feverish excitement--The Americans have preferred the second of
these two evils--Mutability of the laws-Opinions of Hamilton,
Madison, and Jefferson on this subject.

WHEN elections recur only at long intervals, the state is exposed
to violent agitation every time they take place. Parties then
exert themselves to the utmost in order to gain a prize which is
so rarely within their reach; and as the evil is almost
irremediable for the candidates who fail, everything is to be
feared from their disappointed ambition. If, on the other hand,
the legal struggle is soon to be repeated, the defeated parties
take patience.

When elections occur frequently, their recurrence keeps
society in a feverish excitement and gives a continual
instability to public affairs. Thus, on the one hand, the state is exposed to the
perils of a revolution, on the other to perpetual mutability; the
former system threatens the very existence of the government, the
latter prevents any steady and consistent policy. The Americans
have preferred the second of these evils to the first; but they
were led to this conclusion by instinct more than by reason, for
a taste for variety is one of the characteristic passions of
democracy. Hence their legislation is strangely mutable.

Many Americans consider the instability of their laws as a
necessary consequence of a system whose general results are
beneficial. But no one in the United States affects to deny the
fact of this instability or contends that it is not a great evil.

Hamilton, after having demonstrated the utility of a power
that might prevent or at least impede the promulgation of bad
laws adds: "It may perhaps be said, that the power of preventing
bad laws includes that of preventing good ones, and may be used
to the one purpose as well as to the other. But this objection
will have little weight with those who can properly estimate the
mischiefs of that inconstancy and mutability in the laws which
form the greatest blemish in the character and genius of our
governments." ( Federalist, No. 73.)

And again, in No. 62 of the same work, he observes: "The
facility and excess of law-making seem to be the diseases to
which our governments are most liable."

Jefferson himself, the greatest democrat whom the democracy
of America has as yet produced, pointed out the same dangers.

"The instability of our laws," said he, "is really a very
serious inconvenience. I think that we ought to have obviated it
by deciding that a whole year should always be allowed to elapse
between the bringing in of a bill and the final passing of it. It
should afterwards be discussed and put to the vote without the
possibility of making any alteration in it; and if the
circumstances of the case required a more speedy decision, the
question should not be decided by a simple majority, but by a
majority of at least two thirds of each house." 2

PUBLIC OFFICERS UNDER THE CONTROL OF THE AMERICAN DEMOCRACY.
Simple exterior of American public officers--No official
costume--All public officers are remunerated--Political
consequences of this system--No public career exists in America--
Results of this fact.
PUBLIC officers in the United States are not separate from the
mass of citizens; they have neither palaces nor guards nor ceremonial costumes. This simple exterior of persons in authority is
connected not only with the peculiarities of the American
character, but with the fundamental principles of society. In the
estimation of the democracy a government is not a benefit, but a
necessary evil. A certain degree of power must be granted to
public officers, for they would be of no use without it. But the
ostensible semblance of authority is by no means indispensable to
the conduct of affairs, and it is needlessly offensive to the
susceptibility of the public. The public officers themselves are
well aware that the superiority over their fellow citizens which
they derive from their authority they enjoy only on condition of
putting themselves on a level with the whole community by their
manners. A public officer in the United States is uniformly
simple in his manners, accessible to all the world, attentive to
all requests, and obliging in his replies. I was pleased by these
characteristics of a democratic government; I admired the manly
independence that respects the office more than the officer and
thinks less of the emblems of authority than of the man who bears
them.

I believe that the influence which costumes really exercise
in an age like that in which we live has been a good deal
exaggerated. I never perceived that a public officer in America,
while in the discharge of his duties, was the less respected
because his own merit was set off by no adventitious signs. On
the other hand, it is very doubtful whether a peculiar dress
induces public men to respect themselves when they are not
otherwise inclined to do so. When a magistrate snubs the parties
before him, or indulges his wit at their expense, or shrugs his
shoulders at their pleas of defense, or smiles complacently as
the charges are enumerated (and in France such instances are not
rare ), I should like to deprive him of his robes of office, to
see whether, when he is reduced to the garb of a private citizen,
he would not recall some portion of the natural dignity of
mankind.

No public officer in the United States has an official
costume, but every one of them receives a salary. And this, also,
still more naturally than what precedes, results from democratic
principles. A democracy may allow some magisterial pomp and
clothe its officers in silks and gold without seriously compromising its principles.

Privileges of this kind are transitory; they belong to the place
and not to the man. But if public officers are unpaid, a class of
rich and independent public functionaries will be created who
will constitute the basis of an aristocracy; and if the people
still retain their right of election, the choice can be made only
from a certain class of citizens.

When a democratic republic requires salaried officials to
serve without pay, it may safely be inferred that the state is
advancing towards monarchy. And when a monarchy begins to
remunerate such officers as had hitherto been unpaid, it is a
sure sign that it is approaching a despotic or a republican form
of government. The substitution of paid for unpaid functionaries
is of itself, in my opinion, sufficient to constitute a real
revolution.

I look upon the entire absence of unpaid offices in America
as one of the most prominent signs of the absolute dominion which
democracy exercises in that country. All public services, of
whatever nature they may be, are paid; so that everyone has not
merely a right, but also the means of performing them. Although
in democratic states all the citizens are qualified to hold
offices, all are not tempted to try for them. The number and the
capacities of the candidates more than the conditions of the
candidateship restrict the choice of the electors.

In nations where the principle of election extends to
everything no political career can, properly speaking, be said to
exist. Men arrive as if by chance at the post which they hold,
and they are by no means sure of retaining it. This is especially
true when the elections are held annually. The consequence is
that in tranquil times public functions offer but few lures to
ambition. In the United States those who engage in the
perplexities of political life are persons of very moderate
pretensions. The pursuit of wealth generally diverts men of great
talents and strong passions from the pursuit of power; and it
frequently happens that a man does not undertake to direct the
fortunes of the state until he has shown himself incompetent to
conduct his own. The vast number of very ordinary men who occupy
public stations is quite as attributable to these causes as to
the bad choice of democracy. In the United States I am not sure
that the people would choose men of superior abilities even if
they wished to be elected; but it is certain that candidates of
this description do not come forward.

ARBITRARY POWER OF MAGISTRATES 3 UNDER THE RULE OF AMERICAN DEMOCRACY. For what reason the arbitrary power of magistrates is greater in absolute monarchies and in democratic republics than it is in limited monarchies--Arbitrary power of the magistrates
in New England.

IN two kinds of government the magistrates exercise considerable
arbitrary power: namely, under the absolute government of an
individual, and under that of a democracy. This identical result
proceeds from very similar causes.

In despotic states the fortune of no one is secure; public
officers are not more safe than private persons. The sovereign,
who has under his control the lives, the property, and sometimes
the honor of the men whom he employs, thinks he has nothing to
fear from them and allows them great latitude of action because
he is convinced that they will not use it against him. In
despotic states the sovereign is so much attached to his power
that he dislikes the constraint even of his own regulations, and
likes to see his agents acting irregularly and, as it were, by
chance in order to be sure that their actions will never
counteract his desires.

In democracies, as the majority has every year the right of
taking away the power of the officers whom it had appointed, it
has no reason to fear any abuse of their authority. As the people
are always able to signify their will to those who conduct the
government, they prefer leaving them to the* own free action
instead of prescribing an invariable rule of conduct, which would
at once fetter their activity and the popular authority.

It may even be observed, on attentive consideration, that,
under the rule of a democracy the arbitrary action of the
magistrate must be still greater than in despotic states. In the
latter the sovereign can immediately punish all the faults with
which he becomes acquainted, but he cannot hope to become
acquainted with all those which are committed. In democracies, on
the contrary, the sovereign power is not only supreme, but
universally present. The American functionaries are, in fact,
much more free in the sphere of action which the law traces out
for them than any public officer in Europe. Very frequently the
object which they are to accomplish is simply pointed out to them, and the choice of the means is left to their own discretion.

In New England, for instance, the selectmen of each township
are bound to draw up the list of persons who are to serve on the
jury; the only rule which is laid down to guide them in their
choice is that they are to select citizens possessing the
elective franchise and enjoying a fair reputation.4 In France the
lives and liberties of the subjects would be thought to be in
danger if a public officer of any kind was entrusted with so
formidable a right. In New England the same magistrates are
empowered to post the names of habitual drunkards in public
houses and to prohibit the inhabitants of a town from supplying
them with liquor.5 Such a censorial power would be revolting to
the population of the most absolute monarchies; here, however, it
is submitted to without difficulty.

Nowhere has so much been left by the law to the arbitrary
determination of the magistrate as in democratic republics,
because they have nothing to fear from arbitrary power. It may
even be asserted that the freedom of the magistrate increases as
the elective franchise is extended and as the duration of the
term of office is shortened. Hence arises the great difficulty of
converting a democratic republic into a monarchy. The magistrate
ceases to be elective, but he retains the rights and the habits
of an elected officer, which lead directly to despotism.

It is only in limited monarchies that the law which
prescribes the sphere in which public officers are to act
regulates all their measures. The cause of this may be easily
detected. In limited monarchies the power is divided between the
king and the people, both of whom are interested in the stability
of the magistrate. The king does not venture to place the public
officers under the control of the people, lest they should be
tempted to betray his interests; on the other hand, the people fear lest the
magistrates should serve to oppress the liberties of the country
if they were entirely dependent upon the crown; they cannot,
therefore, be said to depend on either the one or the other. The
same cause that induces the king and the people to render public
officers independent suggests the necessity of such securities as
may prevent their independence from encroaching upon the
authority of the former or upon the liberties of the latter. They
consequently agree as to the necessity of restricting the
functionary to a line of conduct laid down beforehand and find it
to their interest to impose upon him certain regulations that he
cannot evade.

INSTABILITY OF THE ADMINISTRATION IN THE UNITED STATES. In America the public acts of a community frequently leave fewer
traces than the actions within a family--Newspapers the only
historical remains--Instability of the administration prejudicial
to the art of government.

THE authority which public men possess in America is so brief and
they are so soon commingled with the ever changing population of
the country that the acts of a community frequently leave fewer
traces than events in a private family. The public administration
is, so to speak, oral and traditional. But little is committed to
writing, and that little is soon wafted away forever, like the
leaves of the Sibyl, by the smallest breeze.

The only historical remains in the United States are the
newspapers; if a number be wanting, the chain of time is broken
and the present is severed from the past. I am convinced that in
fifty years it will be more difficult to collect authentic
documents concerning the social condition of the Americans at the
present day than it is to find remains of the administration of
France during the Middle Ages; and if the United States were ever
invaded by barbarians, it would be necessary to have recourse to
the history of other nations in order to learn anything of the
people who now inhabit them.

The instability of administration has penetrated into the
habits of the people; it even appears to suit the general taste,
and no one cares for what occurred before his time: no methodical
system is pursued, no archives are formed, and no documents are
brought together when it would be very easy to do so. Where they
exist, little store is set upon them. I have among my papers several original public documents which were given to me in the
public offices in answer to some of my inquiries. In America
society seems to live from hand to mouth, like an army in the
field. Nevertheless, the art of administration is undoubtedly a
science, and no sciences can be improved if the discoveries and
observations of successive generations are not connected together
in the order in which they occur. One man in the short space of
his life remarks a fact, another conceives an idea; the former
invents a means of execution, the latter reduces a truth to a
formula, and mankind gathers the fruits of individual experience
on its way and gradually forms the sciences. But the persons who
conduct the administration in America can seldom afford any
instruction to one another; and when they assume the direction of
society, they simply possess those attainments which are widely
disseminated in the community, and no knowledge peculiar to
themselves. Democracy, pushed to its furthest limits, is
therefore prejudicial to the art of government; and for this
reason it is better adapted to a people already versed in the
conduct of administration than to a nation that is uninitiated in
public affairs.

This remark, indeed, is not exclusively applicable to the
science of administration. Although a democratic government is
founded upon a very simple and natural principle, it always presupposes the existence of a high degree of culture and enlightenment in society.6 At first it might be supposed to belong to the earliest ages of the world, but maturer observation will convince us that it could come only last in the succession of human history.

CHARGES LEVIED BY THE STATE UNDER THE RULE OF THE AMERICAN DEMOCRACY. In all communities citizens are divisible into certain classes--Habits of each of these classes in the direction of
public finances--Why public expenditure must tend to increase
when the people govern--What renders the extravagance of a
democracy less to be feared in America--Public expenditure under
a democracy.

BEFORE we can tell whether a democratic government is economical
or not we must establish a standard of comparison. The question
would be of easy solution if we were to draw a parallel between a
democratic republic and an absolute monarchy. The public expenditure in the former would be found to be more considerable than in the latter; such is the case with all free states compared with those which are not so. It is certain that despotism ruins individuals by preventing them from producing
wealth much more than by depriving them of what they have already
produced; it dries up the source of riches, while it usually
respects acquired property. Freedom, on the contrary, produces
far more goods than it destroys; and the nations which are
favored by free institutions invariably find that their resources
increase even more rapidly than their taxes.

My present object is to compare free nations with one
another and to point out the influence of democracy upon the
finances of a state.

Communities as well as organic bodies are subject in their
formation to certain fixed rules from which they cannot depart.
They are composed of certain elements that are common to them at
all times and under all circumstances. The people may always be
mentally divided into three classes. The first of these classes
consists of the wealthy- the second, of those who are in easy
circumstances; and the third is composed of those who have little
or no property and who subsist by the work that they perform for
the two superior orders. The proportion of the individuals in
these several divisions may vary according to the condition of
society, but the divisions themselves can never be obliterated.

It is evident that each of these classes will exercise an
influence peculiar to its own instincts upon the administration
of the finances of the state. If the first of the three
exclusively possesses the legislative power, it is probable that
it will not be sparing of the public funds, because the taxes
which are levied on a large fortune only diminish the sum of
superfluities and are, in fact, but little felt. If the second
class has the power of making the laws, it will certainly not be
lavish of taxes, because nothing is so onerous as a large impost
levied upon a small income. The government of the middle classes
appears to me the most economical, I will not say the most
enlightened, and certainly not the most generous, of free
governments.

Let us now suppose that the legislative authority is vested
in the lowest order: there are two striking reasons which show
that the tendency of the expenditures will be to increase, not to
diminish.

As the great majority of those who create the laws have no
taxable property, all the money that is spent for the community
appears to be spent to their advantage, at no cost of their own,
and those who have some little property readily find means of so
regulating the taxes that they weigh upon the wealthy and profit
the poor, although the rich cannot take the same advantage when
they are in possession of the government.

In countries in which the poor 7 have the exclusive power of
making the laws, no great economy of public expenditure ought to
be expected; that expenditure will always be considerable either
because the taxes cannot weigh upon those who levy them or
because they are levied in such a manner as not to reach these
poorer classes. In other words, the government of the democracy
is the only one under which the power that votes the taxes
escapes the payment of them.

In vain will it be objected that the true interest of the
people is to spare the fortunes of the rich, since they must
suffer in the long run from the general impoverishment which will
ensue. Is it not the true interest of kings also, to render their
subjects happy, and of nobles to admit recruits into their order
on suitable grounds? If remote advantages had power to prevail
over the passions and the exigencies of the moment, no such thing
as a tyrannical sovereign or an exclusive aristocracy could ever
exist.

Again, it may be objected that the poor never have the sole
power of making the laws; but I reply that wherever universal
suffrage has been established, the majority unquestionably exercises the legislative authority; and if it be proved that the
poor always constitute the majority, may it not be added with
perfect truth that in the countries in which they possess the
elective franchise they possess the sole power of making the
laws? It is certain that in all the nations of the world the
greater number has always consisted of those persons who hold no
property, or of those whose property is insufficient to exempt
them from the necessity of working in order to procure a
comfortable subsistence. Universal suffrage, therefore, in point
of fact does invest the poor with the government of society.

The disastrous influence that popular authority may
sometimes exercise upon the finances of a state was clearly seen
in some of the democratic republics of antiquity, in which the
public treasure was exhausted in order to relieve indigent
citizens or to supply games and theatrical amusements for the
populace. It is true that the representative system was then
almost unknown, and that at the present time the influence of
popular passions is less felt in the conduct of public affairs;
but it may well be believed that in the end the delegate will
conform to the principles of his constituents and favor their
propensities as much as their interests.

The extravagance of democracy is less to be dreaded,
however, in proportion as the people acquire a share of property,
because, on the one hand, the contributions of the rich are then
less needed, and, on the other, it is more difficult to impose
taxes that will not reach the imposers. On this account universal
suffrage would be less dangerous in France than in England, where
nearly all the taxable property is vested in the hands of a few.
America, where the great majority of the citizens possess some
fortune, is in a still more favorable position than France.

There are further causes that may increase the amount of
public expenditure in democratic countries. When an aristocracy
governs, those who conduct the affairs of state are exempted, by
their very station in society, from any want: content with their
lot, power and renown are the only objects for which they strive;
placed far above the obscure crowd, they do not always clearly
perceive how the well-being of the mass of the people will
redound to their own grandeur. They are not, indeed, callous to
the sufferings of the poor; but they cannot feel those miseries
as acutely as if they were themselves partakers of them. Provided
that the people appear to submit to their lot, the rulers are
satisfied and demand nothing further from the government. An
aristocracy is more intent upon the means of maintaining than of
improving its condition.

When, on the contrary, the people are invested with the
supreme authority, they are perpetually seeking for something
better, because they feel the hardship of their lot. The thirst
for improvement extends to a thousand different objects; it
descends to the most trivial details, and especially to those
changes which are accompanied with considerable expense, since the object is to improve the condition of the poor, who cannot pay for the
improvement. Moreover, all democratic communities are agitated
by an ill-defined excitement and a kind of feverish impatience
that creates a multitude of innovations, almost all of which are
expensive.

In monarchies and aristocracies those who are ambitious
flatter the natural taste which the rulers have for power and
renown and thus often incite them to very costly undertakings. In
democracies, where the rulers are poor and in want, they can be
courted only by such means as will improve their well-being, and
these improvements cannot take place without money. When a people
begin to reflect on their situation, they discover a multitude of
wants that they had not before been conscious of, and to satisfy
these exigencies recourse must be had to the coffers of the
state. Hence it happens that the public charges increase in
proportion to the civilization of the country, and taxes are
augmented as knowledge becomes more diffused.

The last cause which renders a democratic government dearer
than any other is that a democracy does not always lessen its expenditures even when it wishes to do so, because it does not
understand the art of being economical. As it frequently changes
its purposes, and still more frequently its agents, its
undertakings are often ill-conducted or left unfinished; in the
former case the state spends sums out of all proportion to the
end that it proposes to accomplish; in the latter the expense
brings no return.

TENDENCIES OF THE AMERICAN DEMOCRACY AS REGARDS THE SALARIES OF
PUBLIC OFFICERS. In democracies those who establish high salaries
have no chance of profiting by them--Tendency of the to increase
the salaries of subordinate officers and to lower those of the
more important functionaries-Reason f or this--Comparative
statement of the salaries of public officers in the United States
and in France.

THERE is a powerful reason that usually induces democracies to
economize upon the salaries of public officers. Those who fix the
amount of the salaries, being very numerous, have but little
chance of obtaining office so as to be in receipt of those
salaries. In aristocratic countries, on the contrary, the
individuals who appoint high salaries have almost always a vague
hope of profiting by them. These appointments may be looked upon
as a capital which they create for their own use, or at least as a resource
for their children.

It must be allowed, moreover, that a democratic state is
most parsimonious towards its principal agents. In America the
secondary officers are much better paid and the higher
functionaries much worse than elsewhere.

These opposite effects result from the same cause: the
people fix the salaries of the public officers in both cases, and
the scale of remuneration is determined by a comparison with
their own wants. It is held to be fair that the servants of the
public should be placed in the same easy circumstances as the
public themselves; 8 but when the question turns upon the
salaries of the great officers of state, this rule fails, and
chance alone guides the popular decision. The poor have no
adequate conception of the wants which the higher classes of
society feel. The sum which is scanty to the rich appears
enormous to him whose wants do not extend beyond the necessities
of life; and in his estimation, the governor of a state, with his
twelve hundred or two thousand dollars a year, is a fortunate and
enviable being.9 If you try to convince him that the representative of a great people ought to appear with some splendor in
the eyes of foreign nations, he will at first assent to your
assertion, but when he reflects on his own humble dwelling and
the small earnings of his hard toil, he remembers all that he
could do with a salary which you judge to be insufficient, and he
is startled and almost frightened at the view of so much wealth.
Besides, the secondary public officer is almost on a level with
the people, while the others are raised above them. The former
may therefore excite his sympathy, but the latter begin to arouse
his envy.

This is clearly seen in the United States, where the
salaries seem, if I may so speak, to decrease as the authority of
those who receive them is augmented.10

Under the rule of an aristocracy, on the contrary, the high
officers receive munificent salaries, while the inferior ones
often have not more than enough to procure the necessaries of
life. The reason for this fact is easily discoverable from causes
very analogous to those that I have just pointed out. As a
democracy is unable to conceive the pleasures of the rich or to
witness them without envy, so an aristocracy is slow to
understand the privations of the poor, or rather is unacquainted
with them. The poor man is not, properly speaking, of the same
kind as the rich one, but a being of another species. An
aristocracy therefore cares but little for the condition of its
subordinate agents; and their salaries are raised only when they
refuse to serve for too scanty a remuneration.

It is the parsimonious conduct of democracy towards its
principal officers that has caused more economical propensities
to be attributed to it than it really possesses. It is true that
it scarcely allows the means of decent maintenance to those who
conduct its affairs; but it lavishes enormous sums to succor the
wants or facilitate the enjoyments of the people.11 The money
raised by taxation may be better employed, but it is not
economically used. In general, democracy gives largely to the people and very sparingly to those who govern them. The reverse is the case in aristocratic countries, where the money of the state profits the persons who are at the head of affairs.

DIFFICULTY OF DISTINGUISHING THE CAUSES THAT INCLINE THE AMERICAN GOVERNMENT TO ECONOMY

WE ARE liable to frequent errors in seeking among facts for
the real influence that laws exercise upon the fate of mankind,
since nothing is more difficult to appreciate than a fact. One
nation is naturally fickle and enthusiastic; another is sober and
calculating; and these characteristics originate in their
physical constitution or in remote causes with which we are
unacquainted.

There are nations which are fond of parade, bustle, and
festivity, and which do not regret millions spent upon the
gayeties of an hour. Others, on the contrary, are attached to
more quiet enjoyments and seem almost ashamed of appearing to be
pleased. In some countries high value is set upon the beauty of
public edifices; in others the productions of art are treated
with indifference, and everything that is unproductive is
regarded with contempt. In some, renown, in others, money, is the
ruling passion.

Independently of the laws, all these causes exercise a
powerful influence upon the conduct of the finances of the state.
If the Americans never spend the money of the people in public
festivities, it is not merely because the taxes are under the
control of the people, but because the people take no delight in
festivities. If they repudiate all ornament from their
architecture and set no store on any but practical and homely
advantages, it is not because they live under democratic
institutions, but because they are a commercial nation. The
habits of private life are continued in public; and we ought
carefully to distinguish that economy which depends upon their
institutions from that which is the natural result of their
habits and customs.

WHETHER THE EXPENDITURE OF THE UNITED STATES CAN BE COMPARED WITH THAT OF FRANCE. Two points to be established in order to estimate the extent of the public charges: viz., the national wealth and the rate of taxation--The wealth and the charges of France not accurately known--Why the wealth and charges of the Union
cannot be accurately known--Researches of the author to discover the amount of taxation of Pennsylvania-General symptoms that may serve to indicate the amount of the public charges in a given nation--Result of this
investigation f or the Union.

MANY attempts have recently been made in France to compare the
public expenditure of that country with the expenditure of the
United States. All these attempts have been fruitless, however,
and a few words will suffice to show that they could not have a
satisfactory result.

In order to estimate the amount of the public charges of a
people, two preliminaries are indispensable: it is necessary, in
the first place, to know the wealth of that people; and, in the
second, to learn what portion of that wealth is devoted to the
expenditure of the state. To show the amount of taxation without
showing the resources which are destined to meet it would be a
futile task; for it is not the expenditure, but the relation of
the expenditure to the revenue that it is desirable to know. The
same rate of taxation which may easily be supported by a wealthy
contributor will reduce a poor one to extreme misery.

The wealth of nations is composed of several elements- real
property is the first of these, and personal property the second.
It is difficult to know precisely the amount of cultivable land
in a country and its natural or acquired value; and it is still
more difficult to estimate the whole personal property which is
at the disposal of a nation, and which eludes the strictest
analysis because of the diversity and the number of shapes under
which it may occur. And, indeed, we find that the nations of
Europe which have been the longest civilized, including even
those in which the administration is most centralized, have not
succeeded as yet in determining the exact amount of their wealth.

In America the attempt has never been made; for how would
such an investigation be possible in a new country, where society
has not yet settled into fixed and tranquil habits, where the national government is not assisted by a multitude of agents whose
exertions it can command and direct to one end, and where statistics are not studied because no one is able to collect the necessary documents or find time to peruse them? Thus the primary elements of the calculations that have been made in France cannot be obtained in the Union; the relative wealth of the two countries is unknown: the property of the former is not yet
accurately determined, and no means exist of computing that of
the latter.

I consent therefore, for the moment, to abandon this
necessary term of the comparison, and I confine myself to a
computation of the actual amount of taxation, without
investigating the ratio of the taxation to the revenue. But the
reader will perceive that my task has not been facilitated by
thus narrowing the circle of my researches.

It cannot be doubted that the central administration of
France, assisted by all the public officers who are at its
disposal, might determine precisely the amount of the direct and
indirect taxes levied upon the citizens. But this investigation,
which no private individual can undertake, has not hitherto been
completed by the French government, or at least its results have
not been made public. We are acquainted with the sum total of the
charges of the state, we know the amount of the departmental
expenditure; but the expenses of the communes have not been
computed, and the total of the public expenses of France is
consequently unknown.

If we now turn to America, we perceive that the difficulties
are multiplied and enhanced. The Union publishes an exact return
of the amount of its expenditure; the budgets of the
four-and-twenty states publish similar returns; but the expenses
of the counties and the townships are unknown.12

The Federal authority cannot oblige the state governments to
throw any light upon this point; and even if these governments
were inclined to give their simultaneous aid, it may be doubted
whether they are able to furnish a satisfactory answer. Independently of the natural difficulties of the task, the political organization of the country would hinder the success of their efforts. The country and town magistrates are not appointed by the authorities of the state and are not subjected to their control.
It is therefore allowable to suppose that even if the state was
desirous of obtaining the returns which we require, its design
would be counteracted by the neglect of those subordinate
officers whom it would be obliged to employ.13 It is in fact
useless to inquire what the Americans might do to forward this
inquiry, since it is certain that they have hitherto done
nothing. There does not exist a single individual at the present day, in America or in Europe, who can inform us what each citizen of the Union annually contributes to the public charges of the nation.14

Hence we must conclude that it is no less difficult to
compare the social expenditure than it is to estimate the
relative wealth of France and America. I will even add that it
would be dangerous to attempt this comparison, for when
statistics are not based upon computations that are strictly
accurate, they mislead instead of guiding aright. The mind is
easily imposed upon by the affectation of exactitude which marks
even the misstatements of statistics; and it adopts with
confidence the errors which are appareled in the forms of
mathematical truth.

We abandon, therefore, the numerical investigation, with the
hope of meeting with data of another kind. In the absence of
positive documents, we may form an opinion as to the proportion
that the taxation of a people bears to its real wealth, by
observing whether its external appearance is flourishing;
whether, after having paid the dues of the state, the poor man
retains the means of subsistence, and the rich the means of enjoyment; and whether both classes seem contented with their position, seeking, however, to ameliorate it by perpetual exertions, so that industry
is never in want of capital, nor capital unemployed by industry.
The observer who draws his inferences from these signs will
undoubtedly be led to the conclusion that the American of the
United States contributes a much smaller portion of his income to
the state than the citizen of France. Nor, indeed, can the result
be otherwise.

A portion of the French debt is the consequence of two invasions; and the Union has no similar calamity to fear. The
position of France obliges it to maintain a large standing army;
the isolation of the Union enables it to have only six thousand
soldiers. The French have a fleet of three hundred sail; the
Americans have only fifty-two vessels.15 How, then, can the
inhabitant of the Union be taxed as heavily as the inhabitant of
France? No parallel can be drawn between the finances of two
countries so differently situated.

It is by examining what actually takes place in the Union,
and not by comparing the Union with France, that we can judge
whether the American government is really economical. On casting
my eyes over the different republics which form the confederation, I perceive that their governments often lack
perseverance in their undertakings, and that they exercise no
steady control over the men whom they employ. I naturally infer
that they must often spend the money of the people to no purpose,
or consume more of it than is really necessary for their
enterprises. Faithful to its popular origin, the government makes
great efforts to satisfy the wants of the lower classes, to open
to them the road to power, and to diffuse knowledge and comfort
among them. The poor are maintained, immense sums are annually
devoted to public instruction, all services are remunerated, and
the humblest agents are liberally paid. This kind of government
appears to be useful and rational, but I am bound to admit that
it is expensive.

Wherever the poor direct public affairs and dispose of the
national resources, it appears certain that, as they profit by
the expenditure of the state, they will often augment that
expenditure.

I conclude, therefore, without having recourse to inaccurate
statistics, and without hazarding a comparison which might prove
incorrect, that the democratic government of the Americans is not
a cheap government, as is sometimes asserted; and I do not fear
to predict that, if the United States is ever involved in serious
difficulties, taxation will speedily be raised as high there as
in most of the aristocracies or the monarchies of Europe.

CORRUPTION AND THE VICES OF THE RULERS IN A DEMOCRACY, AND CONSEQUENT EFFECTS UPON PUBLIC MORALITY. In aristocracies, rulers sometimes endeavor to corrupt the people--In democracies, rulers frequently show themselves to be corrupt-ln the former, their vices are directly prejudicial to the morality of the people--In
the latter, their indirect influence is still more pernicious.

A DISTINCTION must be made when aristocracies and democracies
accuse each other of facilitating corruption. In aristocratic
governments, those who are placed at the head of affairs are rich
men, who are desirous only of power. In democracies, statesmen
are poor and have their fortunes to make. The consequence is that
in aristocratic states the rulers are rarely accessible to
corruption and have little craving for money, while the reverse
is the case in democratic nations.

But in aristocracies, as those who wish to attain the head
of affairs possess considerable wealth, and as the number of
persons by whose assistance they may rise is comparatively small,
the government is, if I may so speak, put up at auction. In
democracies, on the contrary, those who are covetous of power are
seldom wealthy, and the number of those who confer power is
extremely great. Perhaps in democracies the number of men who
might be bought is not smaller, but buyers are rarely to be
found; and, besides, it would be necessary to buy so many persons
at once that the attempt would be useless.

Many of the men who have governed France during the last
forty years have been accused of making their fortunes at the expense of the state or its allies, a reproach which was rarely addressed to the public men of the old monarchy. But in France the practice of bribing electors is almost unknown, while it is notoriously and publicly carried on in England. In the United States I never heard anyone accused of spending his wealth in
buying votes, but I have often heard the probity of public
officers questioned; still more frequently have I heard their success
attributed to low intrigues and immoral practices.

If, then, the men who conduct an aristocracy sometimes endeavor to corrupt the people, the heads of a democracy are themselves corrupt. In the former case the morality of the people is directly assailed; in the latter an indirect influence is exercised which is still more to be dreaded.

As the rulers of democratic nations are almost always
suspected of dishonorable conduct, they in some measure lend the
authority of the government to the base practices of which they
are accused. They thus afford dangerous examples, which discourage
the struggles of virtuous independence and cloak with authority
the secret designs of wickedness. If it be asserted that evil
passions are found in all ranks of society, that they ascend the
throne by hereditary right, and that we may find despicable
characters at the head of aristocratic nations as well as in the
bosom of a democracy, the plea has but little weight in my
estimation. The corruption of men who have casually risen to
power has a coarse and vulgar infection in it that renders it
dangerous to the multitude. On the contrary, there is a kind of
aristocratic refinement and an air of grandeur in the depravity
of the great, which frequently prevent it from spreading abroad.

The people can never penetrate into the dark labyrinth of
court intrigue, and will always have difficulty in detecting the
turpitude that lurks under elegant manners, refined tastes, and
graceful language. But to pillage the public purse and to sell
the favors of the state are arts that the meanest villain can
understand and hope to practice in his turn.

Besides, what is to be feared is not so much the immorality
of the great as the fact that immorality may lead to greatness.
In a democracy private citizens see a man of their own rank in
life who rises from that obscure position in a few years to
riches and power; the spectacle excites their surprise and their
envy, and they are led to inquire how the person who was
yesterday their equal is today their ruler. To attribute his rise
to his talents or his virtues is unpleasant, for it is tacitly to
acknowledge that they are themselves less virtuous or less
talented than he was. They are therefore led, and often rightly,
to impute his success mainly to some of his vices; and an odious
connection is thus formed between the ideas of turpitude and power, unworthiness and success, utility and dishonor.

EFFORTS OF WHICH A DEMOCRACY IS CAPABLE. The Union has only
had one struggle hitherto for its existence--Enthusiasm at the
commencement of the war--Indifference towards its close--
Difficulty of establishing military conscription or impressment
of seamen in America--Why a democratic people is less capable
than any other of sustained effort.

I WARN the reader that I here speak of a government that follows
the real will of the people, and not of a government that simply
commands in their name. Nothing is so irresistible as a
tyrannical power commanding in the name of the people, because,
while wielding the moral power which belongs to the will of the
greater number, it acts at the same time with the quickness and
persistence of a single man.

It is difficult to say what degree of effort a democratic
government may be capable of making on the occurrence of a
national crisis. No great democratic republic has hitherto
existed in the world. To style the oligarchy which ruled over
France in 1793 by that name would be an insult to the republican
form of government. The United States affords the first example
of the kind.

The American Union has now subsisted for half a century, and
its existence has only once been attacked; namely, during the War
of Independence. At the commencement of that long war, extraordinary efforts were made with enthusiasm for the service of
the country.16 But as the contest was prolonged, private selfishness began to reappear. No money was brought into the public
treasury; few recruits could be raised for the army; the people
still wished to acquire independence, but would not employ the
only means by which it could be obtained. "Tax laws," says Hamilton, in The Federalist (No. 12), "have in vain been multiplied;
new methods to enforce the collection have in vain been tried;
the public expectation has been uniformly disappointed; and the
treasuries of the States have remained empty. The popular system
of administration inherent in the nature of popular government,
coinciding with the real scarcity of money incident to a languid
and mutilated state of trade, has hitherto defeated every
experiment for extensive collections, and has at length taught
the different legislatures the folly of attempting them."

Since that period the United States has not had a single
serious war to carry on. In order, therefore, to know what
sacrifices democratic nations may impose upon themselves, we must
wait until the American people are obliged to put half their
entire income at the disposal of the government, as was done by
the English; or to send forth a twentieth part of its population
to the field of battle, as was done by France.

In America conscription is unknown and men are induced to
enlist by bounties. The notions and habits of the people of the
United States are so opposed to compulsory recruiting that I do
not think it can ever be sanctioned by the laws. What is termed
conscription in France is assuredly the heaviest tax upon the
people; yet how could a great Continental war be carried on
without it? The Americans have not adopted the British practice
of impressing seamen, and they have nothing that corresponds to
the French system of maritime conscription; the navy as well as
the merchant service is supplied by volunteers. But it is not
easy to conceive how a people can sustain a great maritime war
without having recourse to one or the other of these two systems.
Indeed, the Union, which has already fought with honor upon the
seas, has never had a numerous fleet, and the equipment of its
few vessels has always been very expensive.

I have heard American statesmen confess that the Union will
with difficulty maintain its power on the seas without adopting
the system of impressment or maritime conscription; but the
difficulty is to induce the people, who exercise the supreme
authority, to submit to such measures.

It is incontestable that, in times of danger, a free people
display far more energy than any other. But I incline to believe
that this is especially true of those free nations in which the
aristocratic element preponderates. Democracy appears to me
better adapted for the conduct of society in times of peace, or
for a sudden effort of remarkable vigor, than for the prolonged
endurance of the great storms that beset the political existence
of nations. The reason is very evident; enthusiasm prompts men to
expose themselves to dangers and privations; but without reflection they will not support them long. There is more calculation even in the impulses of bravery than is generally supposed; and although the first
efforts are made by passion alone, perseverance is maintained
only by a distinct view of what one is fighting for. A portion of
what is dear to us is hazarded in order to save the remainder.

But it is this clear perception of the future, founded upon
judgement and experience, that is frequently wanting in
democracies. The people are more apt to feel than to reason; and if their
present sufferings are great, it is to be feared that the still
greater sufferings attendant upon defeat will be forgotten.

Another cause tends to render the efforts of a democratic
government less persevering than those of an aristocracy. Not
only are the lower less awake than the higher orders to the good
or evil chances of the future, but they suffer more acutely from
present privations. The noble exposes his life, indeed, but the
chance of glory is equal to the chance of harm. If he sacrifices
a large portion of his income to the state, he deprives himself
for a time of some of the pleasures of affluence; but to the poor
man death has no glory, and the imposts that are merely irksome
to the rich often deprive him of the necessaries of life.

This relative weakness of democratic republics in critical
times is perhaps the greatest obstacle to the foundation of such
a republic in Europe. In order that one such state should exist
in the European world, it would be necessary that similar
institutions should be simultaneously introduced into all the
other nations.

I am of opinion that a democratic government tends, in the
long run, to increase the real strength of society; but it can
never combine, upon a single point and at a given time, so much
power as an aristocracy or an absolute monarchy. If a democratic
country remained during a whole century subject to a republican
government, it would probably at the end of that period be
richer, more populous, and more prosperous than the neighboring
despotic states. But during that century it would often have
incurred the risk of being conquered by them.

SELF CONTROL OF THE AMERICAN DEMOCRACY. The American people
acquiesce slowly, and sometimes do not acquiesce, in is
beneficial to their interests--The faults of the American
democracy are, for the most part, reparable.

THE difficulty that a democracy finds in conquering the passions
and subduing the desires of the moment with a view to the future
is observable in the United States in the most trivial things.
The people, surrounded by flatterers, find great difficulty in
surmounting their inclinations; whenever they are required to
undergo a privation or any inconvenience, even to attain an end
sanctioned by their own rational conviction, they almost always
refuse at first to comply. The deference of the Americans to the
laws has been justly applauded; but it must be added that in
America legislation is made by the people and for the people.
Consequently, in the United States the law favors those classes
that elsewhere are most interested in evading it. It may
therefore be supposed that an offensive law of which the majority
should not see the immediate utility would either not be enacted
or not be obeyed.

In America there is no law against fraudulent bankruptcies,
not because they are few, but because they are many. The dread of
being prosecuted as a bankrupt is greater in the minds of the
majority than the fear of being ruined by the bankruptcy of
others; and a sort of guilty tolerance is extended by the public
conscience to an offense which everyone condemns in his
individual capacity. In the new states of the Southwest the
citizens generally take justice into their own hands, and murders
are of frequent occurrence. This arises from the rude manners and
the ignorance of the inhabitants of those deserts, who do not
perceive the utility of strengthening the law, and who prefer
duels to prosecutions.

Someone observed to me one day in Philadelphia that almost
all crimes in America are caused by the abuse of intoxicating
liquors, which the lower classes can procure in great abundance
because of their cheapness. "How comes it," said I, "that you do
not put a duty upon brandy?" "Our legislators," rejoined my
informant, "have frequently thought of this expedient; but the
task is difficult: a revolt might be anticipated; and the members
who should vote for such a law would be sure of losing their
seats." "Whence I am to infer," replied I, "that drunkards are
the majority in your country, and that temperance is unpopular."

When these things are pointed out to the American statesmen,
they answer: "Leave it to time, and experience of the evil will
teach the people their true interests." This is frequently true:
though a democracy is more liable to error than a monarch or a
body of nobles, the chances of its regaining the right path when
once it has acknowledged its mistake are greater also; because it
is rarely embarrassed by interests that conflict with those of
the majority and resist the authority of reason. But a democracy
can obtain truth only as the result of experience; and many
nations may perish while they are awaiting the consequences of
their errors. The great privilege of the Americans does not
consist in being more enlightened than other nations, but in
being able to repair the faults they may commit.

It must be added that a democracy cannot profit by past
experience unless it has arrived at a certain pitch of knowledge
and civilization. There are nations whose first education has
been so vicious and whose character presents so strange a mixture
of passion, ignorance, and erroneous notions upon all subjects
that they are unable to discern the causes of their own
wretchedness, and they fall a sacrifice to ills of which they are
ignorant.

I have crossed vast tracts of country formerly inhabited by
powerful Indian nations who are now extinct; I have passed some
time among remnants of tribes, which witness the daily decline of
their numbers and of the glory of their independence; and I have
heard these Indians themselves anticipate the impending doom of
their race. Every European can perceive means that would rescue
these unfortunate beings from the destruction otherwise
inevitable. They alone are insensible to the remedy; they feel the
woes which year after year heaps upon their heads, but they will
perish to a man without accepting the cure. Force would have to
be employed to compel them to live.

The incessant revolutions that have convulsed the South
American states for the last quarter of a century are regarded
with astonishment, and we are constantly hoping that before long,
they will return to what is called their natural state. But who
can affirm that revolutions are not, at the present time, the
most natural state of the South American Spaniards? In that
country society is struggling in the depths of an abyss whence
its own efforts are insufficient to rescue it. The inhabitants of
that fair portion of the Western hemisphere seem obstinately bent
on the work of destroying one another. If they fall into momentary quiet, from exhaustion, that repose soon prepares them for a new frenzy. When
I consider their condition, alternating between misery and crime,
I am tempted to believe that despotism itself would be a blessing
to them, if it were possible that the words "despotism" and
"blessing" could ever be united in my mind.

Conduct OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS BY THE AMERICAN DEMOCRACY. Direction
given to the foreign policy of the United States by Washington
and Jefferson--Almost all the defects inherent in democratic
institutions are brought to light in the conduct of foreign
affairs; their advantages are less perceptible.

We have seen that the Federal Constitution entrusts the permanent
direction of the external interests of the nation to the President and the Senate,17 which tends in some degree to detach the general foreign policy of the Union from the direct control of the people. It cannot, therefore, be asserted with truth that the foreign affairs of the state are conducted by the democracy.

There are two men who have imparted to American foreign
policy a tendency that is still being followed today; the first
is Washington and the second Jefferson. Washington said, in the
admirable Farewell Address which he made to his fellow citizens,
and which may be regarded as his political testament:

"The great rule of conduct for us in regard to foreign
nations is, in extending our commercial relations, to have with
them as little political connection as possible. So far as we
have already formed engagements, let them be fulfilled with
perfect good faith. Here let us stop.

"Europe has a set of primary interests, which to us have
none, or a very remote relation. Hence she must be engaged in
frequent controversies, the causes of which are essentially
foreign to our concerns. Hence, therefore, it must be unwise in
us to implicate ourselves, by artificial ties, in the ordinary
vicissitudes of her politics, or the ordinary combinations and
collisions of her friendships or enmities.

"Our detached and distant situation invites and enables us
to pursue a different course. If we remain one people, under an
efficient government, the period is not far off when we may defy
material injury from external annoyance; when we may take such an
attitude as will cause the neutrality we may at any time resolve
upon to be scrupulously respected; when belligerent nations,
under the impossibility of making acquisitions upon us, will not
lightly hazard the giving us provocation; when we may choose
peace or war, as our interest, guided by justice, shall counsel.

"Why forego the advantages of so peculiar a situation? Why
quit our own to stand upon foreign ground? Why, by interweaving
our destiny with that of any part of Europe, entangle our peace
and prosperity in the toils of European ambition, rivalship,
interest, humor, or caprice?

"It is our true policy to steer clear of permanent alliances
with any portion of the foreign world, so far, I mean, as we are
now at liberty to do it; for let me not be understood as capable
of patronizing infidelity to existing engagements. I hold the
maxim no less applicable to public than to private affairs, that
honesty is always the best policy. I repeat it, therefore, let
those engagements be observed in their genuine sense; but in my
opinion it is unnecessary, and would be unwise, to extend them.

"Taking care always to keep ourselves, by suitable
establishments, in a respectable defensive posture, we may
safely trust to temporary alliances for extraordinary
emergencies."

In a previous part of the same address Washington makes this
admirable and just remark: "The nation which indulges towards
another an habitual hatred, or an habitual fondness, is in some
degree a slave. It is a slave to its animosity or to its
affection, either of which is sufficient to lead it astray from
its duty and its interest."

The political conduct of Washington was always guided by
these maxims. He succeeded in maintaining his country in a state
of peace while all the other nations of the globe were at war;
and he laid it down as a fundamental doctrine that the true
interest of the Americans consisted in a perfect neutrality with
regard to the internal dissensions of the European powers.

Jefferson went still further and introduced this other maxim
into the policy of the Union, that "the Americans ought never to
solicit any privileges from foreign nations, in order not to be
obliged to grant similar privileges themselves."

These two principles, so plain and just as to be easily
understood by the people, have greatly simplified the foreign
policy of the United States. As the Union takes no part in the
affairs of Europe, it has, properly speaking, no foreign
interests to discuss, since it has, as yet, no powerful neighbors
on the American continent. The country is as much removed from
the passions of the Old World by its position as by its wishes,
and it is called upon neither to repudiate nor to espouse them;
while the dissensions of the New World are still concealed within
the bosom of the future.

The Union is free from all pre-existing obligations, it can
profit by the experience of the old nations of Europe, without
being obliged, as they are, to make the best of the past and to
adapt it to their present circumstances. It is not, like them,
compelled to accept an immense inheritance bequeathed by their
forefathers an inheritance of glory mingled with calamities, and
of alliances conflicting with national antipathies. The foreign
policy of the United States is eminently expectant; it consists
more in abstaining than in acting.

It is therefore very difficult to ascertain, at present,
what degree of sagacity the American democracy will display in
the conduct of the foreign policy of the country; upon this point
its adversaries as well as its friends must suspend their
judgment. As for myself I do not hesitate to say that it is
especially in the conduct of their foreign relations that
democracies appear to me decidedly inferior to other governments.
Experience, instruction, and habit almost always succeed in
creating in a democracy a homely species of practical wisdom and
that science of the petty occurrences of life which is called
good sense. Good sense may suffice to direct the ordinary course
of society; and among a people whose education is completed, the
advantages of democratic liberty in the internal affairs of the
country may more than compensate for the evils inherent in a
democratic government. But it is not always so in the relations
with foreign nations.

Foreign politics demand scarcely any of those qualities
which are peculiar to a democracy; they require, on the contrary,
the perfect use of almost all those in which it is deficient.
Democracy is favorable to the increase of the internal resources
of a state, it diffuses wealth and comfort, promotes public
spirit, and fortifies the respect for law in all classes of
society: all these are advantages which have only an indirect influence over the relations which one people bears to another. But a democracy can only with great difficulty regulate the details of an important undertaking,
persevere in a fixed design, and work out its execution in spite
of serious obstacles. It cannot combine its measures with secrecy
or await their consequences with patience. These are qualities
which more especially belong to an individual or an aristocracy;
and they are precisely the qualities by which a nation, like an
individual, attains a dominant position.

If, on the contrary, we observe the natural defects of
aristocracy, we shall find that, comparatively speaking, they do
not injure the direction of the external affairs of the state.
The capital fault of which aristocracies may be accused is that
they work for themselves and not for the people. In foreign
politics it is rare for the interest of the aristocracy to be
distinct from that of the people.

The propensity that induces democracies to obey impulse
rather than prudence, and to abandon a mature design for the
gratification of a momentary passion, was clearly seen in America
on the breaking out of the French Revolution. It was then as
evident to the simplest capacity as it is at the present time
that the interest of the Americans forbade them to take any part
in the contest which was about to deluge Europe with blood, but
which could not injure their own country. But the sympathies of
the people declared themselves with so much violence in favor of
France that nothing but the inflexible character of Washington
and the immense popularity which he enjoyed could have prevented
the Americans from declaring war against England. And even then the exertions which the austere reason of that great man made to
repress the generous but imprudent passions of his fellow
citizens nearly deprived him of the sole recompense which he ever
claimed, that of his country's love. The majority reprobated his
policy, but it was afterwards approved by the whole nation.18

If the Constitution and the favor of the public had not
entrusted the direction of the foreign affairs of the country to
Washington it is certain that the American nation would at that
time have adopted the very measures which it now condemns.

Almost all the nations that have exercised a powerful
influence upon the destinies of the world, by conceiving,
following out, and executing vast designs, from the Romans to the
English, have been governed by aristocratic institutions. Nor
will this be a subject of wonder when we recollect that nothing
in the world is so conservative in its views as an aristocracy.
The mass of the people may be led astray by ignorance or passion;
the mind of a king may be biased and made to vacillate in his
designs, and, besides, a king is not immortal. But an
aristocratic body is too numerous to be led astray by intrigue,
and yet not numerous enough to yield readily to the intoxication
of unreflecting passion. An aristocracy is a firm and enlightened
body that never dies.

Footnotes

1 Kent's Commentaries, Vol. I, p. 272.
2 Letter to Madison, December 20, 1787, translation of M.
Conseil.
3 I here use the word magistrates in its widest sense; I
apply it to all officers to whom the execution of the laws is
entrusted.
4 See the law of February 27, 1813, General Collection of
the Laws of Massachusetts, Vol. II, p. 331. It should be added,
that the jurors are afterwards drawn from these lists by lot.
5 Law of February 28, 1787. See General Collection of the
Laws of Massachusetts, Vol. I, p. 302. The text is as follows:
"The select-men of each township shall post in the shops of
tavern-keepers, inn-keepers, and tradesmen a list of persons
known to be drunkards, gamblers, and who are accustomed to spend
their time and their money in such places; and the proprietor of
the aforesaid establishments who, after posting such notice,
shall allow the aforesaid persons to drink or gamble on his
premises, or sell them spiritous liquors shall be subject to a
fine."
6 It is unnecessary to observe that I speak here of the
democratic form of government as applied to a people and not
merely to a tribe.
7 The word poor is used here and throughout the remainder of
this chapter in a relative, not in an absolute sense. Poor men in
America would often appear rich in comparison with the poor of
Europe; but they may with propriety be styled poor in comparison
with their more affluent countrymen.
8 The easy circumstances in which lower officials are placed
in the United States result also from another cause, which is
independent of the general tendencies of democracy: every kind of
private business is very lucrative, and the state would not be
served at all if it did not pay its servants well. The country is
in the position of a commercial house, which is obliged to meet
heavy competition, notwithstanding its inclination to be
economical.
9 Ohio, which has a million inhabitants, gives its governor
a salary of $1,200 or 6,504 francs.
10 To render this assertion perfectly evident, it will
suffice to examine the scale of salaries of the agents of the
Federal government. I have added the salaries of the corresponding
officers in France to complete the comparison.
Treasury Department
Messenger$ 700
Clerk with lowest salary 1,000
Clerk with highest salary Chief Clerk 2,000
Secretary of State 6,000
The President
Ministäre de Finances
Messenger 1,500 fr
Clerk with lowest salary
1,000 to 1,800 fr.
Clerk with highest salary
3,200 to 3,600 fr
Secretary-General 20,000 fr
The Minister 80,000 fr.
The King 12,000,000 fr.
I have perhaps done wrong in selecting France as my standard
of comparison. In France, as the democratic tendencies of the
nation exercise an ever increasing influence on the government,
the Chambers show a disposition to raise the low salaries and to
lower the principal ones. Thus the Minister of Finance, who
received 160,000 fr. under the Empire, receives 80,000 fr. in
1835; the Directors-General of Finance, who then received 50 000
fr., now receive only 20,000 fr.
11 See the American budgets for the support of paupers and
for public instruction. In 1831 over $250,000 or 1,290,000 francs
were spent in the state of New York for the maintenance of the
poor; and at least $1,000,000 or] 5,240,000 francs were devoted
to public instruction. (Williams's New York Annual Register,
1832, pp. 205 and 243.) The state of New York contained only
1,900,000 inhabitants in the year 1830, which is not more than
double the amount of population in the DÇpartement du Nord in
France.
12 The Americans, as we have seen, have four separate
budgets: the Union, the states, the counties, and the townships
having each its own. During my stay in America, I made every
endeavor to discover the amount of the public expenditure in the
townships and counties of the principal states of the Union; and
I readily obtained the budget of the larger townships, but found
it quite impossible to procure that of the smaller ones. Hence
for these latter I have no exact figures. I possess, however,
some documents relating to county expenses which, although
incomplete, may still interest the reader. I have to thank Mr.
Richards, former Mayor of Philadelphia, for the budgets of
thirteen of the counties of Pennsylvania: viz., Lebanon, Centre,
Franklin, Fayette, Montgomery, Luzerne, Dauphin, Butler,
Allegheny, Columbia, Northampton, Northumberland, and
Philadelphia, for the year 1830. Their population at the time
consisted of 495,207 inhabitants. On looking at the map of
Pennsylvania it will be seen that these thirteen counties are
scattered in every direction, and so generally affected by the
causes which usually influence the condition of a country that
they may fairly be supposed to furnish a correct average of the
financial state of the counties of Pennsylvania in general. The
expenses of these counties amounted in the year 1830 to about
1,800,221, or nearly 3 fr. 64 cent. for each inhabitant; and,
calculating that each of them contributed in the same year about
12 fr. 70
cent towards the Union, and about 3 fr. 80 cent. to the state of
Pennsylvania, it appears that they each contributed, as their
share of all the public expenses (except those of the townships),
the sum of 20 fr. 14 cent. This calculation IS doubly incomplete,
as it applies only to a single year and to one part of the public
expenditure; but it has at least the merit of being exact.
13 Those who have attempted to demonstrate a similarity
between the expenses of France and America have at once perceived
that no such comparison could be drawn between the total
expenditures of the two countries but they have endeavored to
compare detached portions of this expenditure. It may readily be
shown that this second system is not at all less defective than the first.
If I attempt to compare the French budget with the budget of
the Union it must be remembered that the latter embraces far
fewer objects than the centralized government of the former
country, and that the American expenditure must consequently be
much smaller. If I contrast the budgets of our departments with
those of the states that constitute the Union, it must be
observed that as the states have the supervision of more numerous
and important interests than the departments, their expenditure
is naturally more considerable. As for the budgets of the
counties, nothing of the kind occurs in the French system of
finances; and it is doubtful whether the corresponding expenses
in France should be referred to the budget of the state or to
those of the municipal divisions.
Municipal expenses exist in both countries, but they are not
always analogous. In America the townships discharge a variety of
offices which are reserved in France to the departments or to the
state. Moreover, it may be asked what is to be understood by the
municipal expenses of America. The organization of the municipal
bodies or townships differs in the several states. Are we to be
guided by what occurs in New England or in Georgia, in Pennsylvania
or in Illinois?
A kind of analogy may very readily be perceived between
certain budgets in the two countries; but as the elements of
which they are composed always differ more or less, no fair
comparison can be drawn between them.
14 Even if we knew the exact pecuniary contributions of
every French and American citizen to the coffers of the state, we
should only arrive at a portion of the truth. Governments not
only demand supplies of money, but call for personal services,
which may be looked upon as equivalent to a given sum. When a
state raises an army, besides the pay of the troops, which is
furnished by the entire nation, each soldier must give up his
time, the value of which depends on the use he might make of it
if he were not in the service. The same remark applies to the
militia; the citizen who is in the militia devotes a certain
portion of valuable time to the maintenance of the public
security, and in reality surrenders to the state those earnings
that he is prevented from gaining. Many other instances might be
cited. The governments of France and America both levy taxes of
this kind, which weigh upon the citizens; but who can estimate
with accuracy their relative amount in the two countries?
14 This, however, is not the last of the difficulties which
prevent us from comparing the expenditure of the Union with that
of France. The French government contracts certain obligations
which are not assumed by the state in America, and vice versa.
The French government pays the clergy; in America the voluntary
principle prevails. In America the state provides for the poor,
in France they are abandoned to the charity of the public. All
French public officers are paid a fixed salary; in America they
are allowed certain perquisites. In France contributions in labor
take place on very few roads, in America upon almost all the
thoroughfares: in the former country the roads are free to all
travelers; in the latter toll roads abound. All these differences
in the manner in which taxes are levied in the two countries
enhance the difficulty of comparing their expenditure; for there
are certain expenses which the citizens would not be subject to,
or which would at any rate be less considerable, if the state did
not undertake to act in their name.
15 See the budget of the Ministry of Marine for France and,
for America the National Calendar ( 1833), p. 228.
16 One of the most singular, in my opinion, was the
resolution that the Americans took of temporarily abandoning the
use of tea. Those who know that men usually cling more to their
habits than to their life will doubtless admire this great though
obscure sacrifice, which was made by a whole people.
17 "The President," says the Constitution, Article II,
Section 2, # 2, "shall have power, by and with the advice and
consent of the Senate, to make treaties, provided two thirds of
the Senators present concur." The reader is reminded that the
Senators are returned for a term of six years, and that they are
chosen by the legislature of each state.
18 See the fifth volume of Marshall's Life of Washington.
"In a government constituted like that of the United States," he
says, at p. 314, "it is impossible for the chief magistrate,
however firm he may be, to oppose for any length of time the
torrent of popular opinion; and the prevalent opinion of that day
seemed to incline to war. In fact, in the session of Congress
held at the time, it was frequently seen that Washington had lost
the majority in the House of Representatives." The violence of
the language used against him in public was extreme, and, in a
political meeting, they did not scruple to compare him indirectly
with the traitor Arnold (p. 265). "By the opposition," says
Marshall (p. 355), "the friends of the administration were declared
to be an aristocratic and corrupt faction, who, from a desire to
introduce monarchy, were hostile to France, and under the
influence of Britain that they were a paper nobility, whose
extreme sensibility at every measure which threatened the funds
induced a tame submission to injuries and insults which the
interests and honor of the nation required them to resist."